


(No longer) a caricature of intimacy

by Moonfreckle (Sunfreckle)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: All this stuff should come with much more negotiation and security than shown here, Dom/sub dynamic switching, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Just because these idiots are hot doesn’t mean they’re a good example, Kinks in the notes, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Trans Montparnasse, Under-negotiated Kink, or porn with character study if that is a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-13 06:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17482763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Moonfreckle
Summary: It’s always better somehow, just after a job. Claquesous doesn’t know whether it’s the pent up tension or the leftover adrenaline, but they’re never better together than after working together.





	1. Switchblade

**Author's Note:**

> For a long time I decided not to upload any of this because I like making these boys do stuff I don’t really want anyone to replicate as is. These are still my characters though, so be assured that all their nonsense rests on a firm basis of consent, mutual respect and attention to each other’s safety, even if they take care not to show it too clearly. 
> 
> So, with my mind put at ease, I hope you enjoy this~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part contains: teasing, light knife play ( _no_ cutting), making out, play fighting, light breath play, biting, fingering.

Montparnasse is not yet used to being in Claquesous personal space. They usually end up at his own place, partly because Claquesous is always drifting from apartment to apartment, but also because Montparnasse can’t stand clutter. And Claquesous’ place is a _sty_.

Still, there is novelty in being allowed to be here at all and Montparnasse basks in the knowledge of it, lying sprawled out on Claquesous’ bed. It has a certain comfortable quality to it, being here. At his own place it’s not unusual for Éponine to come and try to keep an eye on him. At Babet’s it’s, well, Babet’s place. Claquesous’ apartment feels like neutral ground. Somewhere he doesn’t really belong, but can’t be told what to do either. He can work with that.

Languidly, he rolls onto his stomach and glances up for a moment. Claquesous is sitting propped up against the headboard, listening to music with his eyes closed. Montparnasse cannot hear his music, which means he’s turned it down for once, not trying to drown out everything else. Not that there’s much to drown out in the first place. Except the noise from outside of course. It’s never quiet here.

Montparnasse studies Claquesous’ face for a moment. There’s a nearly faded bruise colouring his pale dark skin, just at the edge of his jaw. That doesn’t happen often. Claquesous rarely gets hit, his hands are usually worst off after a bad night, nicked on one of his own knives or raw from climbing up rough bricks or concrete barehanded. To see his face marked but his hands unharmed is very unusual. Reluctantly, Montparnasse looks away.

Idly, simply in search for something else to fix his attention on for a while, Montparnasse glances at the mess of random objects strewn around Claquesous’ floor. The place isn’t really dirty, just messy. A tangled collection of objects that form a sort of hoard of indiscriminate possessions. Claquesous amasses this stuff in the same way that Montparnasse carefully collects his many treasures. They just treat their belongings a little differently.

Montparnasse lets one arm dangle off the side of the bed and reaches around, lazily pushing at clothes, discarded packaging and random cables, rummaging and snooping around because he’s got nothing better to do and he doesn’t feel like moving.

Something catches his eye in the tangle of mess and Montparnasse grabs at it. He thought he recognized that shape. It’s a switchblade. A large one. Montparnasse rolls over onto his back and sits up to inspect it.

It’s old and in want of sharpening, but it gives a satisfying click when he lets the blade flick out. Montparnasse smiles. He loves a switchblade, it’s one of the many bad habits he and Claquesous have always shared.

At the first click of metal Claquesous lifts up his eyes and looks in his direction.

Montparnasse sees him out of the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t look back. Instead he turns the knife over in his hands, pushes the blade back and clicks it out again in the same fluid movement. This thing is so well-worn it either came to Claquesous used or he must have carried it with him a lot. Montparnasse tries to remember if he’s ever seen him with it, but he can’t.

“Don’t play with that,” Claquesous says, a little too loud because of his music.

Instead of putting the knife down, Montparnasse lets it click again, making a purposely obnoxious “couldn’t hear you” motion around his left ear with his free hand.

Annoyance sparks in Claquesous’ eyes and he drags his headphones off his head. Montparnasse can hear the distant buzz of music escaping from them immediately.

“Put it down,” he orders.

Montparnasse represses a smirk. Sous has such a nice voice for giving orders, it’s not exactly an incentive to give in. He turns the knife in his hand. “It was on the floor,” he points out, giving Claquesous a provoking look.

“Quit _playing_ with it,” Claquesous insists irritably. He’s already leaning forward, so Montparnasse leans away a bit, turning the blade so it catches the light. If Sous wants it back, he can come and get it.

“Why?” he grins. “Is something bothering you?”

“Keep your hands off what’s mine,” Claquesous snarls.

Montparnasse hums thoughtfully, holding his gaze. Claquesous isn’t very patient when it comes to matters like these and Montparnasse is waiting for him to lose it. By way of incentive, he smiles sweetly and spins the knife around his palm.

No sooner has he got the handle firmly gripped again, or Claquesous moves towards him across the bed to snatch it off him. He’s quick, but Montparnasse was expecting it, and for just a brief moment Claquesous has to steady himself with his hands on the mattress.

That single moment is all Montparnasse needs. He moves to face Claquesous, turning the knife sideways so fast that Claquesous barely has time to freeze in place before the blade is at his throat. He stills completely, sitting raised up on his knees, and the shock in his eyes mingles with arousal so instantly that Montparnasse’s lips part in a nearly involuntary grin.

“What did I need to keep my hands off again?” he asks, his voice lowering without him even meaning to.

Claquesous swallows, his eyes darting to Montparnasse’s hand for a moment before looking back up into his eyes. There’s a pleasant jolt in Montparnasse’s chest as their eyes meet and he reigns his grin back in until it’s nothing but the hint of a smile still curled around his lips. He moves, slowly, forcing Claquesous to lean back until he’s sitting. Now Montparnasse has the advantage of height on him as well and Claquesous crawls backwards, led by the knife at his throat, until his back is against the headboard again. He’s sitting almost in the position he was before, only his headphones, that have been throw aside further onto the bed, making a physical difference. But there’s nothing relaxed about him now. He’s sitting tensely, very still, barely breathing by the looks of it. His dark eyes are fixed on Montparnasse, but Montparnasse _knows_ he can see the glint of the blade in his peripheral vision. He wants to touch Sous’ face, brush his fingers past his slightly parted lips. But that might break the spell.

Instead he keeps his hand steady, the knife never trembling or turning, as he moves forward in one fluid motion, straddling Claquesous’ legs and sitting down in his lap. He’s sure that if he could press a little closer, he’d feel how much of an effect he’s having on Claquesous, despite having barely touched him. There are tingles on Montparnasse’s own skin as well, pushing down into shivers as Claquesous’ dark eyes rest on him hotly.

Montparnasse moves the blade up just a little and Claquesous lifts his chin, tipping his head back, but without breaking eye contact for even a second. There is a muffled sort of rush in Montparnasse’s ears and the excitement twisting in his stomach makes him want to keep the knife just there. He wants to kiss past Claquesous’ cheek and jaw, make him open his mouth and coax him to kiss back, all the while keeping him trapped in place with that blade just shy of touching his skin. If it had been one of his own knives he might have done it, but Montparnasse doesn’t know the exact dullness of the blade and he can’t quite feel the length of it on instinct alone.

A crying shame.

The blade clicks shut and Montparnasse kisses Claquesous hard enough to trick him into one more moment of compliance. It lasts long enough to leave them both breathless, giving Montparnasse a satisfying excuse to gasp prettily when Claquesous abruptly shoves him off his lap, throwing him flat on his back and keeping him there with a sudden hand on his throat.

Claquesous’ discarded headphones must be lying close, because Montparnasse can hear music droning from somewhere beside him, but as soon as he tries to turn his head to look, Claquesous tightens his grip. Montparnasse takes in an exaggerated breath through wetly parted lips and Sous makes a wordless, resentful noise at him before roughly shutting his mouth with his own.

Montparnasse struggles against him, biting sharply at Claquesous’ lip while he tears at Montparnasse’s clothes. He lets out a muffled groan when Claquesous’ hand slides between his legs and Claquesous pulls back abruptly to hear him. Montparnasse isn’t going to make it that easy for him though. He swallows hard, biting back the keening noises swelling in his throat as Claquesous touches him through his clothes. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and when he opens them Claquesous’ face is right above his.

“Where’s my knife?” Claquesous breathes, his voice exactly low enough to send shivers through Montparnasse’s stomach that reach between his legs as effectively as the fingers of Claquesous’ free hand.

“Back on the floor somewhere,” Montparnasse says, squirming as much as the hand still lightly squeezing his throat will allow. “Why? Did you want it for something?” he drawls, eyes fixed on Claquesous’.

Claquesous makes a low noise and puts a little more pressure on Montparnasse’s throat, making him gasp and tense his legs when he feels quick fingers undoing his trousers.

“You don’t want me near you with a knife right now,” Claquesous says darkly and Montparnasse makes the effort to reply only to ensure that Sous will keep talking like that.

“Why not?” He’s doing a very bad job of keeping the hunger out of his voice, but the fingers toying with the elastic of his underwear are claiming too big a portion of his mind.

“Because…” Claquesous growls and Montparnasse wants to drink the sound of his voice off his lips. “…I wouldn’t bother with any of your little games—” His hand slides into Montparnasse’s underwear and Montparnasse bites down on his lip in anticipation. “—I’d be cutting your pretty clothes straight off your body.”

Even through the haze of pleasure Montparnasse feels a snarl of anger, but Claquesous’ knees are forcing his thighs further apart and the look in his eyes is too hot. Montparnasse swallows a whimper as well as the half-formed acidic retort.

Claquesous grins, touching him infuriatingly slowly, and continuing in that same tone of voice: “I wouldn’t do it with that old thing, though…”

“No?” Montparnasse still has his hands free and he _could_ be fighting back more than he is, but… “What then?” he breathes, the last word partially drowned out by a whimper when Claquesous _finally_ wets his fingers inside him.

His touches become a little more deliberate and Montparnasse is very aware of Claquesous shamelessly studying the expressions flickering across his face. He hums, nearly convincingly thoughtful, and takes his time before he answers.

“Something prettier…“ he murmurs at last and while the flat of his fingers is still pressing against Montparnasse’s throat, his thumb is now stroking slowly past the edge of his jaw. Like he’s imagining more than he’s saying. Montparnasse meets his eyes, his lashes suddenly heavy, and Claquesous grins. “—and _sharper_.”

Something hot pangs in Montparnasse’s insides and, giving in to the want flooding his body, he grabs Claquesous by the back of his neck and drags him into a rough kiss. Claquesous leaves him in control of the kiss, but retaliates by sinking two fingers inside him and Montparnasse keens, his legs tensing around Claquesous’ hand involuntarily. He kisses him harder and by the time they break apart Montparnasse’s body is singing with nearly breaking tension. He arches his back, feeling Sous’ full weight against him for a moment, before the shudders quivering in his midriff make him drop back onto the mattress.

“I would let you bind and gag me before I let you near one of my suits,” he growls, frantically fighting against the nearly overwhelming stabs of pleasure just a little longer.

“Tempting,” Claquesous grunts, leaving Montparnasse’s throat to grab a handful of his hair instead. “Let’s revisit that at some time when I’m in less of a hurry to fuck you.” And with that he yanks Montparnasse’s head to the side and sinks his teeth into his suddenly exposed neck. Something Montparnasse usually has to order him to do and that rips the last shred of control he still had right out of him.

Montparnasse is hardly aware of the string of slurred curses that spills from his lips. All he hears is the thumping of his own heart and Claquesous’ laughter ringing in his ears. His entire body is flooded with thick, intoxicating heat. Thank fuck for midnight discoveries. He goes limp, his body temporarily as heavy as his head is drunkenly light. But he lies gasping only until he feels Claquesous move away.

Blindly, not even waiting for the fog to clear, he reaches out and drags Claquesous back on top of him. “ _Again_ -” he demands, offering him his throat.

And it really doesn’t matter whether Claquesous feels like complying or holding out on him. Montparnasse can feel the control over his legs returning already. He’ll give Sous about forty seconds to make good on his threats, after that he can fight him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's montsous week, let that be my excuse.
> 
> Next installment up tomorrow~


	2. Silk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This instalment contains: rough making out, teasing, light choking, fingering, gagging/speech restriction.

“This _better_ not be like last time,” Montparnasse gripes as they climb the stairs. He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down despite the late hour, but Claquesous knows no one in this building still has the nerve to complain about anything Parnasse does anyway.

“So resentful,” he tuts, following Montparnasse at a close enough distance to hear even the indignant puff of breath in response to that. “Just because they were a little late.”

“It’s fucking unprofessional,” Montparnasse says with a snarl.

“Mortal sin,” Claquesous drawls. “They kept _you_ waiting.” For a change, he pointedly neglects to add.

Montparnasse turns to glare at him at the top of the stairs, before ill-temperedly unlocking his front door.

Claquesous rolls his eyes as soon as his back is turned again. Christ he’s in a mood. There’s not even any need for him to be here, but Montparnasse _insisted_ he came with him. Just so he has someone to bitch at probably, because he’s a bloody attention whore.

The apartment is that same state of unnaturally tidy that Montparnasse’s living spaces always are and Claquesous lingers to pull his nose up at a new piece of antique furniture before following Montparnasse into his bedroom. Montparnasse is taking off his jacket, fussing with it to hang it up correctly. Clearly this is going to take a while.

Claquesous sits down in the chair near the bed, slouching with graceless indifference just because he knows it will annoy Montparnasse.

Montparnasse gives him a disapproving glance, but doesn’t say anything, instead yanking open a drawer and rummaging through it with resentful energy. “I have no interest in dealing with people who can’t keep to a sodding schedule,” he continues. “It’s disrespectful.”

Claquesous can’t help the sneering smile on his lips. _Disrespectful_. Parnasse is so full of shit. He keeps on bitching while he’s changing his belt and Claquesous tips his head back in amused exasperation. Idly he reaches out towards the high side table between the chair and Montparnasse’s bed, plucking one of his friend’s cravats out of its neatly wound coil. Or at least he thinks it’s a cravat. Claquesous never quite knows the difference between Montparnasse’s neckwear. Ties, cravats, jabots, whatever. He can’t be bothered to tell the damn things apart.

He does like seeing them wrapped around Parnasse’s neck though…

“ _Sous_.”

Claquesous’ eyes dart up to see Montparnasse glaring at him, now standing with his back to the dresser and looking nearly ready to go out again.

“Hm?” he hums, pulling the silk of the cravat through his fingers without looking at it.

“Fucking listen to me when I’m talking to you,” Montparnasse demands, fastening his knife to his belt with an angry click.

Claquesous keeps looking at him, but he doesn’t bother to adjust his condescending expression. “As far as I know you were still bitching about respect,” he says airily, slowly winding the length of the cravat around his palm. “Do go on.”

“Fuck you,” Montparnasse grunts, turning away again.

“Okay,” Claquesous replies casually. “But we only have fifteen minutes and you’re usually a bit too high maintenance for that.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Montparnasse rephrases bluntly, but Claquesous saw the slight shift in the posture of his shoulders, even if it lasted only a second, and a smirk flickers past his face.

“Let’s just get this fucking job over with,” Montparnasse hisses, leaning towards the mirror. “They better not have sent the same inbred shithead as last time.”

Claquesous slants his head, watching the curve of Montparnasse’s back under the thin fabric of his shirt. He stretches the cravat out across his hands. All those foul words from such a pretty mouth.

“And you stick to the damn script this time,” his friend adds snidely, fixing his hair. “I’m not in the mood to stand around listening to you playing riddle games with idiots.”

“Oh _I_ talk too much, do I?” Claquesous hums, slowly folding one end of the silk over the other and pulling a knot into the middle. Babet will kill them if they don’t show up for this meeting, but it sure is tempting…

Montparnasse makes a vexed sound at the back of his throat. “You don’t fucking listen at least, that’s for damn sure,” he sneers.

“Well I’m all ears _now_ ,” Claquesous says menacingly, tying a second knot over the first one.

Amazingly, there is no reply to that and Claquesous stares at Montparnasse for a moment as he runs his hand through his dark hair once more and tugs his collar straight. Claquesous teeth bite down on his bottom lip.

“Are you done primping or what?” he asks abruptly, pulling a third knot taught and dropping the cravat in his lap. They need to get going. Not because they’re late, but because if they stay here any longer he’ll lose his self-control.

“Get your ass up then if you’re in such a hurry,” Montparnasse bites, but he finally turns away from the mirror and heads back towards the door.

Claquesous rises to his feet and smirks at his back, weighing the knotted cravat in his hand for a moment. He considers taking it with him, but actually, it’s rather surprising that Montparnasse didn’t see him mess with it. He’s usually more attentive than that. So instead, and with his smirk growing a little wider, he tosses it onto Montparnasse’s bed, watching it slide down between the pillows before following him soundlessly out of the room.

 

¨

 

It’s always better somehow, just after a job. Claquesous doesn’t know whether it’s the pent up tension or the leftover adrenaline, but they’re never better together than after working together. Tonight is no exception.

The front door has barely closed before Montparnasse’s mouth is on his. Claquesous kisses back, but forces Montparnasse’s hands away when he makes a grab for his sunglasses.

“ _Watch it_ ,” he growls.

Montparnasse makes an impatient noise. “You get rid of them then,” he orders, shrugging out of his leather jacket and immediately stooping to untie his shoes.

Claquesous doesn’t bother with that, kicking his own shoes off instead and tossing his long coat indifferently in the general direction of the coatrack. He carefully lays aside his glasses and that’s all he has time for before Montparnasse’s arms are winding around his neck again.

“Impatient,” Claquesous grunts and grabs him by the back of his neck to kiss him again.

They make their way through the apartment with rather uncoordinated movements. Montparnasse is happy to be stripped of his clothes, but complains every time Claquesous disposes of a garment without what he considers the proper attention.

“What do you want me to pay attention to,” Claquesous growls, roughly pulling the shirt off Montparnasse’s back, grateful there’s no need to wrestle with a binder anymore nowadays. “ _You_ or your damn fashion.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t appreciate it,” Montparnasse scoffs, nevertheless gasping slightly when Claquesous fingers are suddenly digging into his bare back.

Claquesous doesn’t answer, driving him towards the bed instead. Yes, he appreciates Montparnasse’s pretty clothes, but he appreciates getting him out of them _much_ more.

Montparnasse lets himself fall backwards onto the bed, but immediately tries to sit up to take off his trousers.

“Leave it,” Claquesous snaps, planting a hand on Montparnasse’s chest and forcing him back down.

Amusement flickers on Montparnasse’s face and Claquesous growls inwardly. He _knows_ Parnasse is goading him and it still works. Montparnasse curls his lips into a smirk.

“Well,” he sneers, pushing back. “If you’d hurry up for—” He cuts himself off abruptly with a badly swallowed groan when Claquesous grabs between his legs. He squirms, but doesn’t struggle anymore.

That’s better. Claquesous leans a little further towards him. He probably likes Montparnasse best just like this. Half-dressed and nearly dishevelled, just a bit too needy to keep up his uncompliant behaviour.

Suddenly, Montparnasse’s fingers close around the front of his t-shirt and he yanks Claquesous forward. The edge of the bed knocks hard against his shins and Claquesous swears painfully, losing his balance. Montparnasse drags him onto the bed, climbing over him immediately, dark hair falling in front of his face as he leans forward.

“Sorry,” he grins insincerely. “Kiss it better?”

“ _Enfoiré_ ,” Claquesous spits, the word already half muffled by Montparnasse’s tongue. He kisses back angrily, pushing himself up off the matrass and forcing Montparnasse onto his back again. He breaks out of the kiss abruptly , one hand nearly at Montparnasse’s throat, glaring down at him.

Montparnasse grins up at him, hips moving underneath Claquesous’ and his hands grabbing idly at the sheets beside his head. His lips are already moving, undoubtedly to say something taunting, but suddenly his smug expression falters. He turns his head, reaching further under the pillow.

“The fuck is this?” He holds something up to look at it.

His fingers are curled around the knotted cravat.

Montparnasse goes oddly quiet as he looks at it and Claquesous feels a grin slip onto his face. This is almost as perfect as he could have imagined it.

“I think you know exactly what that is…” he replies.

Montparnasse’s eyes flit to his. He’s suddenly keeping very still underneath him, but Claquesous feels his blood pulse under the hand at his throat.

He sits up, pulling the cravat out of Montparnasse’s hand. “And I think you’ve got a pretty good idea of what I want to do with it…”

He watches Montparnasse’s face carefully, grinning at the dark flicker of realisation in his eyes as Montparnasse comes to the conclusion that he _planned_ this. However unfixed a plan it might have been. Claquesous sits up a little more, playing deliberately with the silk. His knees are planted on either side of Montparnasse’s hips now and his weight is resting mostly on both their legs. He’s keeping their eyes locked, but he’s sure Montparnasse can see the flutter of fabric as he plays with the cravat, just at the edge of his vision.

“What you _don’t_ know, is what I would do to you if you let me…”

There is a flash of want in Montparnasse’s eyes that is _almost_ acquiescence. Claquesous slants his head just a little, playing with the knot with one hand while slowly reaching out to Montparnasse with the other. Montparnasse doesn’t stop him, doesn’t protest or turn away. Instead his expression changes just a little, twisting into something challenging. A sneering smirk flickers onto his face.

“You need a _toy_ to shut me up?”

Grinning through the spike of provoked anger Claquesous grabs a handful of Montparnasse’s hair and drags his head up off the pillow. Montparnasse grunts, hastily pushing himself up with his arms, pushing this chest forward and staying put even when Claquesous lets go of his hair.

“We both know that’s not true,” Claquesous grins, stretching the cravat out in front of his face. “But who knows what I’m capable of without your endless bitching to distract me.”

The indignation on Montparnasse’s face clashes terribly with the way his eyes darken as Claquesous pushes the knot into his mouth. It presses down on his tongue, making Montparnasse’s breath hitch in a way that scratches down Claquesous’ spine. Slowly, deliberately, he wraps the cravat around Montparnasse’s head, crossing it as he pulls the fabric between his teeth and tying it tight behind his head. It’s tight enough to pull on Montparnasse’s lips, preventing him from closing his mouth all the way. He’s breathing audibly through his nose, in short, excited bursts, and Claquesous presses a hand to his chest, feeling the thumping of his elevated heartbeat as he pushes him back down.

“Well,” he muses aloud. “That’s a pretty picture.”

The spark of anger in Montparnasse’s eyes is not quite equal to the eager way his throat works as he swallows. Claquesous grins a little wider, lightly touching Montparnasse’s mouth. His lips are being stretched somewhat, but it doesn’t look uncomfortable. Slowly, following the anticipatory shiver in Montparnasse’s body, he lets his hand slide down until it is resting loosely at Montparnasse’s throat again. His other hand is free to drag blunt nails down Montparnasse’s chest, nearly making him arch his back. As soon as he actually does, Claquesous tightens the grip on his throat, not pressing down on his windpipe, but deliberately squeezing the side of his throat. Restricting just enough blood flow to make Montparnasse squirm for a moment before he releases him.

Montparnasse glares at him when he does, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“You could ask for more,” Claquesous drawls leisurely, stroking Montparnasse’s throat. He grins. “But you’re too fucking vain for incoherent mumbling, aren’t you. Well…” He lets his hand slide down, the fingers of both hands now raking down Montparnasse’s chest and stomach, making his back arch fully off the matrass. “You’ll have to see what is given to you when you _don’t_ get to spout demands on a loop.”

That earns him a snarl from the back of Montparnasse’s throat and he lets out a low laugh, shifting his weight to shove Parnasse’s legs apart wide enough to sit between them.

“You know what your problem is, Montparnasse,” he says conversationally, ignoring the way Parnasse’s hips buck when he scratches down his thighs through the fine fabric of his trousers. “You don’t appreciate generosity…”

Montparnasse doesn’t make a sound while Claquesous teases him, doesn’t even give a sigh of relief when he finally does strip off his trousers and boxers. But when he sits up to grab the lube instead of sliding down between his legs, a sharp noise of frustration sticks in his throat.

“What was that?” Claquesous hums with a smirk, taking off his t-shirt before slicking up his fingers, and Montparnasse’s eyes snap fire at him.

His teeth are biting down angrily on the wet silk and Claquesous grins a little wider. “Did you have something to _say_?”

He digs the fingers of his dry hand into Montparnasse’s thigh, feeling his muscles tense. Montparnasse likes his mouth, prefers it to his fingers, Claquesous knows that, but _he_ likes to see what he’s doing. He also likes to take his time, and like this that is _much_ easier. Montparnasse has been genuinely quiet so far, he’ll put an end to that now.

As soon as Claquesous’ fingers slide between his thighs Montparnasse lets his head fall back onto the pillow. His heels slip on the sheets as he tries to brace his legs and Claquesous puts his own knees a little further apart to give Montparnasse something to push his thighs against. Montparnasse’s breathing was already ragged, but now it begins to hitch and stutter.

Claquesous studies the widening of his eyes and the spasms in his body with quiet satisfaction, sliding his fingers up and down in search of the particular weak spots he wants to exploit. Because that’s the thing about Montparnasse’s endless demands, they’re insulting. Claquesous _knows_ what he wants. He knows _exactly_ what to do to him. He doesn’t need sodding instructions.

His fingers graze an unexpected spot and Montparnasse whimpers. The sound cuts straight to Claquesous’ own body, because for all his mouthing off, Montparnasse is usually annoyingly good at swallowing down and biting back any involuntary sounds. But the gag won’t let him completely close his mouth and although he’s certainly unable to speak properly, he’s beginning to be just as unable to keep quiet.

Claquesous quickens his pace but gentles his touches and Montparnasse groans and keens, his legs tensing frantically. The rest of him stays wonderfully still though, apart from the quivering deep in his chest. Being silenced like this is having a remarkable effect on the whole of Montparnasse’s body. He’s suddenly so wonderfully pliant, not constantly pulling or pushing to get his way. Claquesous bound his hands to the bedpost once, but this is almost more effective. It’s extraordinary. And best of all, Montparnasse could take that gag off at any time, his hands are _not_ bound after all. But he doesn’t and the truth of it is burning in Claquesous mind. Montparnasse is _letting_ him do this, and he’s _so_ far beyond pretending he doesn’t like it. The noises spilling from his forcibly parted lips are nearly incessant now and Claquesous wants to fuck him so badly it almost hurts.

A strange shock pulls through Montparnasse’s body and Claquesous feels his muscles go taught. He quickly braces a hand against his chest, repeating the motion he just made between Montparnasse’s legs.

“You should see yourself now,” he growls. “ _Fuck_ , Parnasse—”

Montparnasse makes a choking sound that sounds awfully like Claquesous’ name, trailing off into something that is very nearly a scream. He shudders violently, struggling against the hand still planted on his chest with uselessly uncoordinated movements, until his muscles give out and he finally lies still. The panting rise and fall of his chest is the only true movement of his body for a moment as his mouth hangs open and his eyes slide half-closed.

Claquesous lets go of him, torn between reaching up to loosen the gag and kiss him and finally getting out of his damn jeans, because they’re _incredibly_ uncomfortable by now. Montparnasse shies away from his hand thought, keening weakly and rolling onto his stomach as soon as Claquesous allows him the freedom to move his legs. He whines, pressing his legs together with a shudder, but even now not a single voiced demand.

“Oh don’t worry,” Claquesous grins, wiping his hand clean before stripping off the rest of his clothes. “I _wasn’t_ done yet.”

 

¨

 

There’s a moment of breathless silence before Claquesous rolls off Montparnasse. His entire body is humming with dispersed heat and exertion and fucking hell did he need that tonight.

He’s not too dazed to clean them both up a bit though and when he’s done Claquesous silently offers to take off the gag. This time Montparnasse lets him touch his face and he unhurriedly unties the silk, careful not to pull on Montparnasse’s hair. He smirks slightly, a little drowsy, as he watches Montparnasse spit out the knot as soon as the pressure is gone. He takes in a freeing breath and swallows, but still doesn’t say a word.

Claquesous lets himself fall flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling in a satisfied haze and for quite some time Montparnasse just lies beside him, breathing quietly and occasionally touching his mouth. Finally, he speaks, sounding like his normal self, plus an edge of satiated pleasure:

“You owe me a new cravat.”

Claquesous lets out a snort of genuine amusement. “I don’t owe you shit,” he grins. “Besides, as if you wouldn’t have bitched your head off if I had dared to stuff anything but silk into your pretty mouth.”

“Casse-toi,” Montparnasse scoffs, but it loses all its bite by the way he purrs as he stretches his limbs, so Claquesous doesn’t even bother answering it.

Instead, he pulls the duvet on top of the both of them, rolling onto his side with a smirk. Fun as it is to make Montparnasse complicit in ruining his own clothes, if this is going to be a thing, it might be worth investing in some new toys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there will be more some day, but that's it for now! Happy Montsous week everyone~


End file.
